


Clarity

by SwiftyTheWriter



Category: Sweet/Vicious (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Jules Will Fight Anyone, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Ophelia Is Hard On Herself, Ophelia centric, Pre-Relationship, especially when she is worried about Ophelia, not set in any specific timeline, seriously I have no idea where this came from, this is kinda dark folks, unnamed omc - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:16:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9395327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwiftyTheWriter/pseuds/SwiftyTheWriter
Summary: "Ophelia doesn't exactly know how she got here, here being chained up in what she thinks is someone’s basement-and fuck, after this she is never going to make a joke about basement babies ever again-but she can hazard a guess."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Potentially triggering content for descriptions of: Kidnapping, drugging, suspicion of sexual assault, lack of bodily autonomy, violence, and self recrimination. Nothing too graphic but read at your own risk.

“The worst part about all of this,” Ophelia thinks. “Is the waiting.”

It had been several days since she had woken up with a hangover and a mouth drier than the Sahara desert and looked up to see her wrists chained to the walls. With actual chains. And shackles. Who the fuck even owns shackles now days?

It wasn’t a very pleasant awakening. In fact as far as her list rude awakenings goes it was right on the top. Even above the one where her mother shook her awake her at six in the morning to tell her to pack because her and dad were getting a divorce and Ophelia was going with him.

God, her mom. “Has she even noticed I was gone,” Ophelia muses out loud. She has found herself doing that a lot lately. Once more, the thin air around her does not answer back. Thank fuck. She is going to be worried when it does.

Ophelia doesn't exactly know how she got here, here being chained up in what she thinks is someone’s basement-and fuck, after this she is never going to make a joke about basement babies ever again-but she can hazard a guess. There was a party, Jules and her had had a fight and she decided to go drown her sorrows in free booze and secondhand smoke and make an effort to prove to herself that she was not completely reliant on the blonde and Harris for company. It was a lie but hey, when had she not been good at lying to herself? Anyway, she got wasted a little too fast and didn't actually notice until she was about to pass out.

* * *

 

The party was even less fun than it had been when it started and that in itself was an achievement worthy of recognition. Admittedly, part of that had to be the the fact that she only had three drinks and she was so dizzy she couldn’t stand up straight. Ophelia had been drinking since she was a preteen, she knew her limits and this was not it so it definitely meant something was very off.

The beat of the music vibrated the air and the smoke choked her and made her feel sick. Ophelia hugged the wall and tried to ignore the feeling that the floor was moving under her. It took three tries to get her phone out of her pocket and felt herself begin to panic. This wasn’t normal. She begun to dial.

This wasn’t normal. She hadn’t had nearly enough to drink and that meant-

“This is Jules, leave a message!”

“Jules,” Ophelia heard herself slur into the phone. It was difficult to speak. Fuck, she was scared. “Jules… something’s wrong. I… Can you come get me? I think… Something’s wrong.” She would have said more but she dropped her phone. She bent down to get it but the movement was apparent too much for her and she collapsed on the ground. Her vision swam and what she could see gained a glossy quality, like a dream. She was stuck in her own body. She couldn’t move and felt her breathing go fast and erratic. It was a fucking nightmare.

Hands grabbed her upper arms and pulled her but she wasn’t sure if it was up or down. She wasn’t sure of anything. She felt lightheaded and dizzy, as if there were not enough air in her lungs no matter how much she breathed. Her head lolled back and everything went dark.

* * *

 

The fact that she hadn’t managed to notice someone put something in her drink until she was basically half out of it was almost worse than the whole basement thing. Almost. Because, she should have fucking realized. She of all people should have noticed, she should stopped drinking, should have watched more carefully, she should have fought when some fuckhole put their hands on her. There was a thousand different things to do that she didn’t do and now she was in some pervert’s basement.

“Some Robin,” She thought bitterly.

So far, she hadn’t seen who took her. She had woken up to an opened bottle of water and a granola bar. When she had finally got thirsty enough to drink it she had passed out straight afterwards which gave credence to the possibility the water was drugged.

While she’s awake she learned to drink just enough so she won’t pass out which gave everything around her this sense of fogginess and surreality that is both terrifying and completely ruining the appeal of not being sober. If alcohol is ruined for her she is going to show no mercy whenever the opportunity comes. If it comes.

The worst thing is the waiting. Ophelia sits on edge, knowing at some point whoever took her is going to come down the stairs. She forces herself to stay awake because each time she passes out she comes to to see a full bottle of water and a granola bar and the the fact that someone is in the room when she is not conscious is fucking terrifying.

The first time it had happened she had frantically searched her body for any sign that something had happened and had saw nothing. She reached into the bucket left for her and tried to convince herself it was the drugs that made her nauseous.

Ophelia knows she has never felt this weak and helpless before. It really adds to the sacred shitless thing, giving it a nice emotional cocktail of every psychopath’s wet dream. Shit, drunk girl get’s targeted after fight with friend. When did she become a horror movie cliche?

Fuck, Jules. Jules must be going ballistic. She had definitely been gone long enough that she had to notice. Ophelia really hoped she hadn’t done anything stupid. Jules was an amazing person but she had a habit of reacting to all negative emotions by beating the shit out of people. While a useful thing to have as a vigilante, it was less so when no one was there to watch her back. She hoped Jules was okay.

She was the only one, Ophelia knew, who would bother looking for her.

* * *

 

She woke up from her drug induced sleep to the sound of pounding feet on the staircase. Fear corsed through her system and she struggled to her feet. She may have been weak from… well, everything, but she managed to land a solid right hook to the man who came running towards her despite the chains. He fell down and she took the liberty of breaking his nose with her knee causing him to scream and clutch his face.

Ophelia noticed he was holding keys and quickly relieved him of them and moved to unlock her shackles. The man apparently got a second wind, though, and dragged her back by the hair, causing her to scream. She tried to elbow him but the chains made it impossible.

She felt the cold steel of what had to be a gun press into her back and she froze. Fuck. She hadn’t noticed he was armed. She must be more out of it than she thought.

“Make one move, bitch-” He began to growl but the door slammed open, breaking off his words.

“This is the Police, drop the weapon!” The new guy shouted, pointing a gun at him. The man holding her swore into her hair and shoved her, her head colliding with the wall.

Two shots went off and a body fell to the floor. Her last thought was on how annoyed she was to be passing out again.

* * *

 

Ophelia woke up in a hospital bed, hooked up to a shit load of IVs. She bit off a groan. She hated hospitals. She had overdosed once when she was younger and stupider and developed a strong hatred of them.

Though, considering where she had been, the hospital was much preferable.

“Good, you’re awake,” A nurse said. She came into her room and pulled out her chart. Ophelia couldn’t help but flinch at the sudden movement and the nurse gave her a pitying look like, “oh that poor girl.”

Yeah, she really fucking hated hospitals.

She tuned back into what the nurse was saying. “...it’s still early but the police will be by soon to take your statement. If you’re up for company, however, there’s a blonde who hasnt left the waiting room since you’ve been admitted who I think wants to see you.”

Ophelia picked up immediately. “Jules is here,” She asked intently, wincing at the state of her voice.

The nurse smiled kindly, “Would you like me to get her?”

Ophelia nodded, not trusting her voice.

The nurse disappeared and within minutes Jules appeared at the door.

Unlike the nurse who had came into the room at a brisk pace and left much the same way, Jules’s gait seemed almost restrained. Jules came to the doorway and tensed at the first sight of Ophelia, something dark crossing her features, before forcing herself to relax. She approached slowly, in a way that telegraphed her every move. Ophelia was torn between being annoyed and grateful at the display.

Jules sank into the chair next to her bedside and for a long moment it seemed like neither of them knew what to say.

“You look like shit,” Ophelia told her. Tact had never been a strong suit of hers. It was true though, her knuckles were scraped and her face was bruised to hell and the bags under her eyes made her look like she hadn’t slept in days.

Jules let out a laugh that sound too much like a sob for Ophelia’s taste. “You can talk,” She retorted.

Ophelia flipped her off and received that half laugh again. She let the silence grow for a few seconds before asking, “How long?”

Any trace of a smile left Jules’s face. She closed her eyes for a long moment and breathed out through her nose. “Three days,” She said quietly. “You’ve been in the hospital for two.”

Ophelia’s face was blank and she stared at the wall as if it held some deeper meaning. Three days.

Jules saved her from ruminating on it for long. “Fuck, O.” She said quietly, running a hand down her face. “I thought… I thought you were…” She let out a huff of breath. “When I heard that message you left me and I couldn’t find you I kind of lost it a bit. No one from the party knew anything. Neither did anyone else I,” she hesitated, “asked. I had to file a missing persons. It was apparently dumb luck they found you when they did.” She swallowed, “Where you were being held was in the same neighborhood as the party. The police were canvassing the area and he panicked after they questioned him. They didn’t suspect anything until they heard screaming coming from his house-” Jules’s voice then broke off and she started studying her shoes.

Ophelia reached out and grabbed her hand and was almost surprised at how hard she squeezed back.

For the first time in what felt like ages Ophelia was completely certain of what was real and despite everything else going on it felt fucking amazing. Jules always seemed to do that for her. She always had given her clarity when there was none. Since they had first met Jules had broken her out of her mental stagnation and provided her with a purpose that made her feel like she was worth something and for that alone she could love her.

“He’s dead.” Jules tells her, her voice hard. “They killed him.” Her grip had tightened and the dark look was back on her face.

But she loved her for so many more reasons than that.

“He’s lucky, then,” Ophelia says quietly. Jules looked up, almost in surprise, and the dark look on her face faded into something more like concern.

“I’m sorry,” Jules says after a while. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you. I’m sorry I didn’t save you.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Ophelia wants to tell her, the words on the tip of her tongue. “You already have,” She wants to say, but she doesn’t. The words reveal too much too soon and now is not the right time or place. Especially as raw as Ophelia is feeling right now.

So she paints a smirk on her face and adopts a narrator’s voice on her already sore throat, “And as the camera pans in, we can see our beloved hero angsting over something that wasn’t their fault at the side of the hospital bed of-”

Jules flicks her ear, “Shut up.”

“Ow,” She whines. “Wounded here.” She then mutters some things uncomplimentary things about bedside manners. Jules rolls her eyes.

“Really, Ophelia. How are you?” Jules says quietly and looks into her eyes so Ophelia knew it wasn’t something that could be laughed off.

“Shaken. Sore. Probably ruined for bondage forever but I’ll survive. Promise,” She adds to Jules still pinched look of concern.

“I’ll hold you too that,” The sheer sincerity in her voice was both wonderful and made Ophelia want to crawl out of her skin so she fell back on what was her habit.

She deflected, “The real question is how are you, Jules. Don’t think I missed the f-bomb you dropped. Our little miss ‘Oh ratz’ has grown up so fast,” Ophelia wiped a false tear away with her free hand and smiled at the mock glare got in return.

 

Ophelia wasn’t okay. She wasn’t okay by a long shot. But she wasn’t alone either and that was worth something.

Jules leaned in closer to her, her eyes sparkling from something she said and still held her hand tight and close to herself.

Yeah, it is definitely worth something.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, hope you enjoyed reading this! Really not sure where this idea came from but it was a pleasure writing it! Please tell me what you think! Hope you have an awesome day! :):):)


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